Save Me
by MrsMollyMoo
Summary: When Mike Mizanin wishes for a hero, he will get much, much more than he bargained for. Includes: Kane, Christian, Mike "The Miz" Mizanin, John Morrison and Chris Jericho. WARNING: This is rated "M" for a reason and it is SLASH!
1. Lonely

**Author's Notes**

**This is SLASH, so if you don't like slash FanFictions, I implore you to close this page; don't say I didn't warn you.**

**I DO NOT OWN EVEN A SMALL PORTION OF THE WWE.**

**Here's a story requested by a close friend of mine (who prefers I not reffer to them by name).**

**This takes place after Mike's split from Tuesday Night ECW and his moving on to Monday Night Raw; note that it gets very angsty...**

**I hope you enjoy this! You know I spoil you darling...**

**The pairings here include:**

**ChristianxKane**

**Mike MizaninxKane**

**Mike MizaninxJohn Morrison**

**Chris JerichoxKane**

**If I get a thumbs up from my requester I'll be adding another chapter; we correspond weekly so if things go well, this should be recieving weekly updates.**

**I DO NOT OWN THE WWE and I AM NOT WRITING TO OFFEND ANYONE**

**This part is told in ****Kane's point of view....**

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_Mike Mizanin was a very angry little boy_.

But he wasn't angry because he was mad at someone, no, he was angry because he was _confused_.

He was confused and cornered and upset, but alone; _so alone_.

I could see that he was lonely; that he needed someone.

No; not a friend. Mike had already tried friends, they didn't work out, they abandoned him; _they hurt him_.

He had tried _so hard_ to play their game, but in the end, the rules were rigged and he lost.

Oh, how Mike hated to lose.

It rather drove him wild, to be deemed defeated.

When it was announced that he would have to leave John, his best friend in the entire world, his heart broke.

But Mr. Morrison wasn't disappointed in the least; on the contrary, he was pleased!

He laughed at him, _he mocked him_.

So Mike did the inevitable; he gave the self-proclaimed "shaman of sexy" the treatment all of his rotten friends got and he eliminated him as an ally.

Then I made my move, I followed him out after his tirade against John and I connected with him.

I gave him a pat on the back and a reassuring smile; I told him he was a _good boy_. He accepted this new attention, he accepted it the way a stray dog accepts scraps tossed at it by wandering school children.

And to add to that, he wanted more.

This I knew, but nothing more I gave.

Instead I let him drink it in; he would come crawling back to me within a matter of days on his hands and knees, begging for more, and then and only then would I give it to him.

I waited nearly a week and a half's time before our next encounter; he was desperate.

But he was desperate for the affection I had offered and not me, as I had hoped and so I turned him down, tail between his legs. _Bad boy Michael, bad boy_.

He didn't like this teasing, this torment.

He didn't like it at all.

It confused him evermore, made him feel deprived.

And of course, all work and no play made Michael a very dull little boy indeed.

He began to pursue me, thinking he could control me and force me to give in to his craving. Hah! What a pathetically dim-witted notion it was; as if I could be _controlled_.

I am a monster, a machine; I am a towering being of gargantuan strength, and what of him? He is _nothing_ compared to my supremacy.

Yet he still thought himself better than me, and so he continued his absurd mission to subdue me.

I waited like a spider in her web, weaving an entryway for my little fly to come bounding in.

It took another week, but when the time finally came I knew I had him.

I lured him into my lair; a little torture chamber I had in my basement, from the occasions upon which I would have my lover, Christian dress up as an evil nurse and help me seek victims for a "check-up with the doctor" as it were.

But that was time past and this was now.

When I had locked us in, he knew he had made a mistake and he beseeched I release him, sniveling miserably at my feet.

"Why, my dear? To spoil all of the fun we're going to have? Never!" I cackled, pulling him up to his feet and slamming him down against the wooden torture table of the room for a powerful kiss.

He screamed and cried out, but it was to no avail, nobody would hear him; it only allowed me to deepen our kiss and slip my tongue into his mouth.

His flavor was especially delectable, the roof of his mouth being a mix of honey, beer and watermelon, his teeth were raw and smooth like peppermint candies while his tongue was shying away from me, afraid of me.

I wanted more, I had to have more and so in my voracious desire I bit down on his lower lip, drawing blood from his lip.

Oh, there is no sweeter taste on thy tongue than Mike's blood. It is salty and thick, but still retains a robust tanginess.

His lips would become bruised and red, but by God I could no longer help myself.

His blue eyes begged me to stop; they were frightened, gloriously wide, and all the while focused on my lips and so very gleaming they were; pools of excellent cerulean.

You must pardon me, my sick pleasure; I love the terror in the eyes of those I chose to share bed with. It's the reward of me going through all of the trouble.

I began to strip him naked of his flimsy clothing, ripping the fabric as I went.

I didn't care if he would be walking out in the streets in shambles when I was finished; I only cared about getting my hands onto that supple boyish skin.

He tried with all of his might to resist me, to keep his meager covering; but there is nothing in the world that can stop me once I am motivated.

Even divine powers cannot obstruct me.

I shred away his shirt within moments, ripping the sleeves from his arms, but wait! What is this?

I pull his arm closer for careful examination to find that it is wounded, severely mangled; but not from me ripping his shirt off. This is a form of self mutilation, of self hate.

Scratches run along the arm down to the wrist, made by him clawing at it in anger, in frustration, in pain.

"Michael, my poor sweet little darling; what has John done to you?" I clucked my tongue thoughtfully; he responded with a shocked glance.

Was it not obvious that he did it to himself and not John?

Yet I still did not blame him, I let him be the victim while I held the world accountable as the culprit; the world had wronged him, meanwhile he was an unfortunate innocent child, barely able to defend himself against such a treacherous villain.

"John didn't do that…" he remarked, slowly coming to find courage in his fear of me "I did"

"Oh, but John _did_ do this to you Michael. _He did it all_" I assured him, running my index finger along the scrapes down him arm; he winced as I did so.

It was a strange face he had made; he ground his teeth slightly while shutting one eye and by doing so it seemed he was winking at me.

I reveled in it and wanted to see it again. With a sideways glance and a devilish smirk coating my face as I did so; I ran my tongue along his healing wounds, I stopped a few inches before his elbow and the midpoint of his arm.

His face contorted once again, this time both eyes squeezing shut as his arm twitched agonizingly; but I hadn't hurt him, I was tickling him. It was the tingling sensation of my tongue grazing along his skin, and it felt _good_.

"Can you see it now?" I asked, digging my thumb's nail into his palm, causing him to writhe further and in addition emit a small whimper "this _wasn't_ your fault, none of it ever was. _You_ are the victim Michael; _you_ are the one who is suffering"

He sees me for a bleeding heart, and I can tell he wants to give in; he wants to believe that's what I am. But no doubt my reputation precedes me; my past offences have made him wary of me.

"I don't know if I can trust you…" he grumbles, sucking on his lower lip, tasting the blood that has dried there.

I cease my thumb's pressing on his skin and instead bring his hand to my face, allowing him to caress my features; I gently place a kiss on his wrist, just above where his injuries are.

"I'm not asking for your trust Michael" I replied, holding his hand firmly on my face.

"Then what do you want from me?" he asked, withdrawing himself from me and knotting his brows in a puzzled stare.

_Surely he knew_.

"You're distraught, my dear; John _did something_ to you, _didn't he_? Well, don't worry, because I'm going to make you better" I answered, giving empty promises to his willing ears.

Yes, that's right. John Morrison was the one person who had wronged him the most, the one person he couldn't help but stay mad at; the one person I could use as a scapegoat.

He breathes softly, scrutinizing me, trying to catch me in a lie.

But I have been playing this game for years, I will not be caught, and if I am then it won't be by a young runt like him.

I smile warmly at him, placing a hand on his knee "I'm here to help you Michael"

He shakes his head "no"; he dares to call me out on my fabrications?!

"I don't believe you" he says, hopping off of the table and trying to maneuver his way around me and escape.

It's no use; I'm far too big for the likes of him to be prevalent over. I grip his wrists and hold them above his head, swooping down to once again claim his mouth; but the little rascal commenced to trying to head-butt me!

A quick rotation of my knee to his genitals put an end to this, as Mike fell limp in my arms.

Perhaps I hit him too hard? No. He deserved it for turning down my generous offer. Call me a savage or what you will, inhospitable behavior will not be tolerated.

I release him and let him slump to a heap on the floor, massaging his sore balls and groaning wretchedly while doing so.

"Oh darling, look at what you've made me do…" I muttered, once again picking him up and placing him on the table "let me have a look at that"

It was time to play doctor.

He immediately rejected me, crossing his legs firmly over his groin, still covering it with his hands. It was another feeble effort to prevent me from reaching him, and this too would fail.

I ripped his legs open, pried away his hands and gripped his delicate area in my palm; too tight for comfort I assumed, as he let out a loud whine once I had done so.

I eased my hand along the bulge of his pants, willing him an erection.

He sat completely immobile, his eyes somewhat glazing over as I continued to knead the area where I had harmed him.

Years of practice do pay off and he began to pitch a tent pointing outwards, I gathered that at about now his pants were becoming uncomfortable due to being stretched by his penis' stiffening.

As carefully as I could, I began to undo his pants, first the button that clasped it together, then the zipper, the head of his manhood popping out, a wet spot visible on his white briefs.

"Oh my" I chuckled, running my finger in a circular motion along the head, his hips buck almost wildly as I do so.

He must have his climax now and not a second later.

I bring my lips to his nipple and suck; rotating my tongue around his hardened nub as a result I draw a barely audible moan to pour forth mouth.

"Mike, you will not escape my prison by keeping it all inside…" I say, pulling away from him to stare him in the eye.

He glances down at me with sad eyes, begging me to release him from his incarceration.

Not on your life, my sweet little lamb; I am enjoying myself far too much.

I trail my tongue along his torso, pausing at his navel, where I place a tender kiss, his length is so brutally hurting beneath me and I have no choice but to oblige.

I remove his briefs, gently sliding them off of his legs, the material tickles his skin as I do so; he flexes his toes as the tingle passes down.

Finally they reach the end of his feet and I drop them to the floor, caressing his inner thighs as my gaze meets his hard manhood, leaking from my sexual advances.

I will admit I was taken aback; his penis only measured a mere six and a half inches, give or take; while I myself am the proud owner of a full twelve inch penis. He was quite small compared to the men that I usually prefer.

His cheeks flush; he's self conscious.

Obviously he's embarrassed for me to have seen him in such a state; but I will not allow him to shirk from me, not after coming so far.

I take him in to the hilt and commence to sucking him for all he is worth, I wasn't going to fool around anymore, no more games; just straightforwardness.

He groans as he feels himself succumbing to me, his hands gravitating to my head.

Yet, he did not touch my head.

At this point in time Michael was definitely befuddled; should he enjoy my little treat for him? Or, should he disdain it and refuse to pleasure in my conduct?

Satisfied breaths of air wheeze their way free from his throat, but his hands wouldn't dare touch me.

I began to massage his balls as I give him the oral gratification he so desperately needs.

I know he can feel it coming soon; his orgasm.

Michael began to pant wildly, bucking his hips to get himself further into my mouth; there was no need for such added force, but I welcomed it nonetheless, running my tongue along the underside of the shaft, promoting his release.

He released a loud incoherent grunt as his peak grips him, shaking him like a rag doll and scrambling his mind in a blissful haze.

He ejaculates down my throat and I swallow it all, having no problem in doing so after practicing so many times with Christian, who happens to have an eight inch member.

He passed out after, falling backwards to lie upon the table, his arms lying limply spread at his sides.

I removed him from my mouth and stepped back to observe my work.

It was quite the sight to behold, him lying nude upon my examination table, asleep with a small smile on his face from having climaxed.

I turn and leave him there, walking up the stairs that extend from this chamber to the upper level of my house; I expect Christian should be waking up from his sleep soon.

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**There we are, the deed is done.**

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	2. Fallen

**Author's Notes**

**Good news, I've gotten the okay to go foreward with two chapters (I plan to write the second one as soon as I'm done)**

**Once again, I send my highest regards friend who requested this.**

**I don't own the WWE and I am not here to offend you!**

**This chapter will also be told in Kane's point of view...**

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Allow me to speak in my own defense, lest you jump to those tempting conclusions that most often plague our minds upon first impressions; I openly admit I am not an honest person.

In truth, I am a lying cad and will habitually use devious tricks to get what I want.

This is why the responsibility can only be put on my affiliates, who so willingly put their faith in me; as the phrase goes: fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.

In actuality it makes me wonder, after all that I do, why Christian has decided it better to stay with me when so many more dedicated, decent, handsome men would be elated just to be his console or one night stand.

As I lumbered up the stairs I could very clearly picture the scene that was to unfold before me if Christian was waiting on the other side of the door out of the cellar; oh what a sight it would be!

He would first berate me for violating the confines of our relationship, then afterwards ask forgiveness for "talking at me so sternly" and to finish off we would retire to our bedroom for apology-sex, courtesy of Christian.

The routine has grown quiet tiresome for me, and in the past I left him at a minimum of three times on behalf of it, I usually return home to find him weeping over losing me, even though it is _my_ residence, not his.

I suppose the real difficulty between Christian and me is that he wants marriage while I only want someone to spend intimacies with. I suspect that if we _were_ married he would want children too.

As I slowly swing open the door, a slight squeaking noise is emitted and it makes me want to wince as I walk through.

I am immediately met with Christian's furious glower.

He stood leaning back against the counter arms folded across his chest, looking quite a fright. He wore blue jeans that had been tugged on with such speed that he'd forgotten to button or zip them, revealing his dark blue boxers; his usual button-up red plaid nightshirt, the buttons undone to reveal a golden cross glistening on his chest as the light reflecting from the gray dawn from outside trickled into the room through the curtains of our kitchen window.

I couldn't help but notice the final detail that sat next to him, his double barrel shot-gun tilted against the table with the handle pointing upwards and the barrel to the floor.

_Did he intend to shoot me_?

"Nothing to say for yourself?" he remarks snidely on my silence; insolence will get him nowhere.

"You and I both know that you're not going to feel better just because I say something, Christian" I respond serenely.

His blue eyes stare into my gray one's, prying into my soul to find a speck of remorse, because that's all he really wants from me; a sense that I am sorry for what I've done.

You may think me a monster, and think what you will; for I won't disallow you your innermost deliberations, but I am not sorry for anything I have ever done to him.

I am not, and I won't be, because I don't regard love the way he does.

To me love, relationships, unions; they're all just games. There are always people who are sitting on the sidelines, _begging_ for the chance to play, why deny them? I invite them, whereas those like Christian will try to selfishly keep the game to themselves so only they can feel the exhilaration of love.

"You _cunt_! You shit for brains _son of a bitch_! _I hate you_! I hope you burn in hell for eternity! I swear you better watch that I don't slice your dick off and stick it in a mason jar under the sink, you _bastard_! Ugh! What did I ever do to deserve this God?! Huh?! This is payback for _what_? What did _I_ ever fucking do to _you_?! Not a _damn_ mother-fucking thing! _Jesus Christ_! Why is this happening to me?!" he screams obscenities left and right which will no doubt wake Mike from his peaceful sleep downstairs, regardless of how heavy a sleeper he is.

He then begins to pull things back a little, falling apart at his seams.

"I try _so_ hard for you Kane, I really do. I clean the house every other day; I take care of you when you're not feeling well, I moved out of my apartment for you… I even did that nurse thing for you… I mean, how much _more_ do you want from me?! Is there something _I'm _doing wrong? Please, I-" he starts sobbing uncontrollably; I expect soon he will apologize for snapping at me or start vomiting like he did when I cheated on him with Jeff Hardy.

I cannot bear to hear any more of this, his tirade has gone on long enough and I plan to put an end to it.

"Enough of that now, darling" I say, slightly pacifying the rage within him, I stride over to where he stands and endeavor to embrace him but he fights back, slamming fists into me. He weakens with each punch he throws and gradually is reduced to a blubbering fool wiping his eyes on my chest.

He is eventually able to calm himself and he brings himself to look up at me, wiping his eyes with the side of his hand "who was it?" he asks, so quiet that his question was almost lost in the air.

"Michael Mizanin" I mumble entangling my fingers in his hair, he pushes away from me once again enraged.

"_Why_?!" he mouths; his voice has completely left him, he clearly disproves of my choice.

"The poor little dear has slashes running down his arm, he's deeply disturbed, and he _needs_ somebody to care for him" I answer, striving to plead my case to my unwilling judge.

"So you like him 'cause he slits his wrists?" Christian sneered, opening a drawer on the side to the counter and drawing forth a carving knife. He holds it to his own arm and prepares to strike, before I stop him.

"Christian, darling! Don't behave so! Don't mar that beautiful skin of yours!" I exclaimed while confiscating the knife and stowing it back away in its proper place; I still retain my grip on his elbow, holding a stern gaze.

He sighs and runs a hand through his wheat-colored hair.

"Is he bigger than me?" Christian exhales, trying to bring himself to look into my eyes without any more outbursts.

I smirk at his question, recalling on the actual size of the darling little scamp.

"Not even close" he smiles at me and as I hold him within my gasp I can feel him leaning ever so candidly to plant a kiss upon me; I feel as though he is but an extension of my body, controlled by my will and mine alone.

Suddenly he breaks free from our shared amorous gaze and his eyes dart to the doorway that leads downwards into the depths of the cellar, where my captive was previously resting after expending his seed.

And then I too see the reason for his stopping; my precious little Michael who has now woken from his slumber had crept up the stairs to come upon us consorting in our frivolous behavior as lovers often do.

He stands before us naked, petrified in his role as center of attention.

He averts his gawk, fixing it on the door of the kitchen; I instantly know what foul plan has wormed its way into his mind.

He intends to scurry through it and run to safety, regardless of clothing? I'll not see him off so quickly, whether I be rebuked or not.

Just as I had foreseen, Michael tries to sprint out of the door; I toss Christian aside in my attempt to recapture the little brute before he absconds from the house, but alas my speed is slower than he and he manages to slip through my fingers, out onto the lawn of the backyard.

He flies a hairs width above the ground, the soles of his feet barely grazing the dew-fresh grass as he glides over the lawn, but he shall find no escape here; behind my home there is only a wood and from there he will have to run for miles before he reaches a town in which he can find salvation.

No, he will not escape, particularly not now that I have doubled my swiftness and am so close to him that I can reach out and touch him.

I scramble after him and catch him by the wrist of his right arm, squeezing him vehemently in my hand.

It matters not to me whether I break his wrist in half or if I reopen his wounds, he will not break away from me until I have decided that my need is satisfied. Then he is free to come and go as he pleases.

After this one simple touch, he falls to the ground, and I am unsure as to whether he has tripped or if his collapse is due to my gripping him with such vigor; but I know for certain that I am once again, blessedly in command.

He struggles and squirms evermore scandalously and although I enjoy the satisfaction of a good chase, I decide that it is quite enough of this nonsense.

I sling him over my shoulder and his fighting becomes unremitting as he writhes against me, increasingly rebellious.

"Please dear…" I murmur, trying to calm him out of his wild behavior "your conduct has quite put me out and I will not put with it any longer"

He continues to bang his fists and flail his legs; I deduce that pleading will get you nowhere just as flattery?

When I once again have reentered the house, I drop Michael rather coldly onto the floor; he winces from the chill of the tile against his bare skin, but I do not coddle him, nor will I. I am waiting for directions from Christian who has patiently been thinking over what we are to do with him.

"You can't do this to _me_…!" he muttered his eyes hard and burning as they are fixed so angrily on me; I wager he would love to burn a hole right through my skull "and when I tell the police, you'll both be-"

"Quiet down _bitch_, the _people _are talking" Christian interlards with a sharp slap of his palm to the table.

All eyes and ears of the room are instantly focused on Christian, who looks to me with an approving leer and carries on with his devilish side taking form.

"Well honey, at first I thought you were being stupid when you went after this pup, but now after seeing him, I guess he's got some potential… Clean him up a little and we'll experiment" Christian says finally coming to see things under my light.

Yes, this is the side of Christian that I love; this is the side of him that I feel such an attraction to. The reason I've stayed with him throughout our lovers spats.

I grin and nod. Anything for my dearest darling Christian; anything he asks.

Once again I lift Michael up from the ground and this time I carry him round the corridors of the great hall of the main floor of our house, up the winding staircase, into the quarters of our slumber to where our master bathroom lies.

I shut the door behind us and quickly set to work on drawing him a bath as instructed by Christian, luckily for us both I always keep a patients gown under the bathroom sink.

It's high time that Mike Mizanin has had a check up, and I know just the doctor and nurse to perform it.

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**Just a little helpful foreshadowing, if you don't like it we can work out a way to change it when we meet up next Monday!**

**Until the next chapter then...**


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